


Adventures in Telepathic Miscommunication, or: how Jean Grey learned something about her Professor

by ladanse



Series: 5 Times The Students Figured Something Out about their Professor (and one time they learned the full story) [1]
Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: A little, F/M, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, enjoy the fluffiness y'all, inspired by my jean & prof feels from xma, only a lil bit of angst this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 19:57:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8591554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladanse/pseuds/ladanse
Summary: "Oh my God," says Jean, out loud, in the quiet of her room. "Oh my God."The Professor and Magneto. The Professor and Magneto - They had - They had.Took you long enough, is the wry emotion that the Phoenix floats her way. She tells it summarily to shut up, and goes back to having her second crisis in two days.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hey have fun peeps - this will hopefully be part of a 5 + 1 series :)

 

 

 Jean can't sleep.

 

Well. This is, strictly speaking, not the truth. She can sleep just fine. The truth is that even after the whole Apocalypse debacle and her subsequent turning-into-a-fiery-bird-of-death-or-something (what the _fuck_ , honestly), she still has nightmares. Now, instead of waking up the house before the Prof can soothe her, they just have a tendency to leave her sheets charred and send the entire east wing into fevered delirium.

 

Yeah. She stays awake, most nights. This night, in particular, because - well. She's Not Thinking About That.

 

So she's wandering around the east wing, carefully steering away from the Professor's lightly slumbering mind, dipping occasionally into some of the younger children's dreams (they're soothing, bright and swirly and mostly just impressions of playtime) when several things happen at once: The proximity alarm (powered by Cerebro) whispers a warning and then fluidly cuts out, there's an all-too-convenient dramatic crack of lightning, and there's a knock on the door.

 

Jean isn't afraid of much, anymore. She opens it.

 

There are two figures: a man, and a child. They are completely dry, despite the rain; Jean immediately chalks this up to mutation. Then the man steps inside like he owns the place, ducking slightly to avoid the door, and Jean recognizes him.

 

"Magneto," she says.

 

He nods. "Is the Professor here?"

 

She doesn't trust him. "Why do you want to know?"

 

"Is he here," Magneto asks again, and it's less of a question.

 

She ignores him. If it comes down to it, she can take him out; she may not be able to control magnetic fields, but her telekinesis trumps his. And her telepathy -

 

Jean slides across Magneto's mind, dipping her toes in, looking for weaknesses, and finds a strong impression of _he's too kind not to take her_ and _but he'll see me_ and _this was a bad idea_ before his shields slam down, cutting her off like fingers in a car door. She winces visibly - he's better at that than even the Prof - and he looks darkly satisfied. "Stay out of my head."

 

"I would if you would tell me why you're here," she says, clenching her fists. The Phoenix isn't so happy about being rebuffed; she needs to take deep breaths before she burns.

 

"It's none of your business," he says. The candelabra groan ominously.

 

It's a threat; the Phoenix ignites and reaches to wrench the metal from his control. They wrestle, for a moment - she hears a quivering cry from the little kid - the candelabra begin to twist and crawl out of the wall -

 

"Jean," says a quiet voice, in her mind and outside of it. She stops, the Phoenix settles in the face of its soothing familiarity; surprisingly, so does Magneto. Jean catches a brief shock-surprise and an intense longing - she's not sure from who - and then the two minds are glass, reflecting Phoenix's fire back on herself. She blinks, blinded, and retreats into her own mind.

 

"Charles," says Magneto.

 

"Erik," says the Professor steadily, although his voice just catches on the hard _k_. They hold each others' gazes for a moment. "And who is this?"

 

The girl is shivering and wide-eyed, pressed against the nearest wall.

 

"The child of two of my recruits. She - "

 

"Can evaporate water with a thought," completes the Professor, and suddenly, he's in his element. Magneto steps back, recognizing this; the Phoenix calms.

 

"Marvelous. What's your name, darling?"

 

She steps forward, barely, and the Professor smiles encouragingly. "Lauren," she says.

 

"Hello, Lauren," he says, with a little wave. Somehow, in nothing but his faded pinstriped pajamas and a hastily-tied robe, he is relaxed and commanding at once. "My name is Professor Xavier, though most of my students call me Professor X. This is a school for mutants - for people like you and me." He smiles again, and this time, she smiles back. _Look at what I can do_ , he says in her mind, and her eyes go wide.

 

"Mister Magneto can move metal around," says Lauren, losing her reservations. Her voice is thin but strong.

 

"He can indeed," says the Professor. Jean tenses, knowing the pain that lies behind his placidity. "Now, dear, show me what _you_ can do."

 

Lauren screws up her entire face, concentrating, and the raindrops on the threshold of the still-open main door steam into the air; a powerful wave of heat blasts Jean's hair back.

 

"Very nice," says the Professor, smiling and clapping theatrically. She grins at him, gap-toothed. "Where are your parents?"

 

Lauren wavers, looking at Magneto. "I instructed them to stay in our car," Magneto says. "I wasn't sure they'd be welcome."

 

"Everyone is welcome here, Erik," says the Professor, his tone sharp. "Invite them in. Jean, have we got any queen rooms left?"

 

Jean closes her eyes, feeling out the east and west wings, and then the northern corridor, and shakes her head. "They're all taken up, and Jubilee burned through the duvets on the spare rooms of the west wing last week."

 

"What about upstairs?" says Lauren, pointing at the grand staircase.

 

Jean feels the tension before she sees it, although she can't imagine what's wrong. "The rooms upstairs are all singles," she says, frowning at the Professor. _Are you all right?_

 

  
_Fine, dear_ , he says absently, although she can see the way his hands clench and release the arms of his wheelchair.

 

Then Magneto says, hesitant - "There is a master bedroom on the second floor, assuming the house is what I remember - " and Jean stares at him, because she didn't know that he had _lived_ here - " - and assuming, also, that it is not currently in use."

 

Magneto and the Professor are not looking at each other.

 

Jean does not know what this means.

 

(Well, technically speaking, she has an idea. But it doesn't actually make any sense, and opens up things she doesn't even want to think about, such as - well. It's impossible, anyway.)

 

The Professor clears his throat. "The room hasn't been used in over twenty years," he says, his voice final, "and we don't have time to air it out tonight. You do realize I sleep on the first floor." He gestures to his chair, and Magneto's shoulders hunch.

 

"Of course."

 

"There's a suite with two singles and a shared bathroom in the northern corridor," Jean jumps in, as things continue not to make sense. "Would that work?"

 

"Yes, good idea," says the Professor, easy smile appearing as quickly as if it had never left. "Bring them in, Erik." He seems to waver for a moment, and then asks - "I couldn't trouble you to stay for a game?"

 

Magneto frowns at him.

 

"Chess," clarifies the Professor. There's a strange expression on his face - he's fidgeting, he never fidgets - and Jean realizes he's actually _nervous_.

 

"Yes, I know," says Magneto, with an exasperation that is dangerously close to fondness. "I didn't think - " he trails off. The Professor looks rueful.

 

That is _it_ , think Jean and the Phoenix together, the Prof's rules on telepathy and ethics be damned.

 

She slides carefully into Magneto's mind again, this time underhanded - rather than to probe, she is going in to take, to overwhelm. If she's careful, he won't even realize - this type of invasion is insidious and quiet -

 

Magneto's shields slam down again, even harder this time. Jean jolts, full-bodied, and barely hears the Prof's chiding, "Erik."

 

"Clever," says Magneto, reluctantly. "It would have worked, too, I think, but I have had experience with telepaths. You think you can use your power to control me - invade the mind, meld your own thoughts with those of another - but it's nothing if not presumptuous. If your Professor has told you tales of Emma Frost - it was a favored tactic of hers. Quite quickly, she found that this does not work. Not with me."

 

"Why are you telling me this," says Jean, rubbing at her skull. He's so dramatic. The Professor catches the tail end of the thought, and snorts quietly.

 

"Don't do that again," says Magneto, flatly. "I don't like people in my head. Especially not so - close."

 

Distantly, Jean feels a shock of hurt. It takes her a moment to realize that it's the Professor's, not her own.

 

"I will speak with her," says the Professor, his voice taut. "If you will retrieve Lauren's parents." It's not a question.

 

Magneto turns around without another word, and walks into the rain.

 

Jean braces herself, for -

 

"Jean," says the Professor. Ah. Here it is.

 

"Yes?" she asks. Her voice is sullen.

 

"You know what I have told you about telepathy and boundaries."

 

"Yes."

 

"You know that such use of telepathy is not only unethical, but also nonconsensual and tantamount to rape."

 

Jean stops. "No," she says. "I didn't. I didn't know." It sounds pathetic in the empty vastness of the mansion's foyer.

 

His jaw is set; she can't feel the customary press of his mind next to hers, which is a sharper rebuttal than a simple lecture. He's truly angry.

 

"I don't need to tell you not to do this again. Not without the full understanding of both parties. For now, I suggest you avoid it altogether."

 

Jean nods, and can't hold his gaze anymore; she examines the grain of the wooden flooring and her bare feet, and realizes that for the first time in weeks, she feels cold. "I won't do it again," she says, obedient.

 

The Professor lets out a breath. "Thank you, Jean," he says, and she can feel his mind again. "I apologize for my severity, but you must understand - mutants and nonmutants alike have a very difficult time trusting people like us, and if you do this again, or lose control and go too deep - "

 

"I could hurt someone, I know."

 

"Not only that. The people who lo- " he stops. "The non-psionics you will live with will despise their own vulnerability, laid bare for you to see. If you push too far, they will leave."

 

"Yeah," says Jean. "I get it."

 

There's something in both of their voices. Jean is pretty sure he's thinking about Mystique - the shapeshifter may live at the mansion, more often than not, these days, but Jean knows that wasn't always the case - and she's thinking about That Thing She Has Decided Not To Think About for the Forseeable Future.

 

Neither of them asks the other. They're great at communication.

 

"Good night, Jean," says the Professor. "Try and get some sleep. I'll get the new arrivals sorted."

 

Jean nods, preoccupied. "Good night," she says, and leaves for her room.

 

\--------------------------------------------------

 

She's thinking about it.

 

Okay, so. Backstory.

 

Exactly two days and fourteen hours and 25 minutes ago, she (Jean Grey, aka the Phoenix) was talking with one Scott Fucking Summers (aka Cyclops (aside: what a _stupid_ name, honestly)) and may have bent to the impulse to kiss the idiot on the actual lips in a clear demonstration of the tendency of telepathy to severely addle decision-making.

 

And - okay. It was... not terrible, all right? So sue her. It was actually... fairly good. A little good. Maybe.

 

Anyway, then the Phoenix had thought _heat_ (she's definitely blaming it on the Phoenix, the room was cold and she had no reason to suddenly feel like her clothes were too tight) and exploded, and she had just latched onto Scott's mind and felt his shock and delight and it had been great and wonderful and kind of hot -

 

And then he had broken away, said "Jean?" and realized she was in his mind, and recoiled, and she had wrenched her way out from the ( _delightful, dizzying_ ) closeness, and had felt him freaking out, and then she had run for it.

 

Jean hasn't actually seen him since. They've been avoiding each other. It's _great_.

 

Closeness.

 

Like -

 

_"Especially not so - close."_

 

Wait.

 

What?

 

"Oh my God," says Jean, out loud, in the quiet of her room. "Oh my God."

 

The Professor and Magneto.

 

The Professor and Magneto -

 

They had -

 

They _had_.

 

  
_Took you long enough_ , is the wry emotion that the Phoenix floats her way. She tells it summarily to shut up, and goes back to having her second crisis in two days.

 

It's not so much that the Professor is - well, that he's the type of person who - the kind of man - it's only sort of illegal now, anyway, and Jean knows better than anyone that people are never as straight-laced as everyone assumes. It's just. She never saw him as - well. Like That, for lack of a better term, although that feels horrible to think.

 

And then the fact that it's Magneto. She can see the appeal - kind of - but honestly, Prof. _Magneto_. Even she has better taste - actually, well. The jury is out on that one. Do telepaths have some sort of fated attraction for doomed assholes, or what?

 

It's not going to be a problem, she tells herself, firmly, because it's not. Who cares where the Prof - wow, that is not a thought she needed to have, good Lord. Who cares what the Prof likes. There, that's better.

 

The Professor has saved her life. He's been there for every nightmare, every vision, every fire in her curtains. This feels small - miniscule - in the face of that.

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

The next morning, she comes into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee and some toast - the same way she does every morning. The Professor is taking tea, accompanied by Hank and several trees' worth of genetics journals, and he smiles at her as she sits down. "Good morning," he says, only half-paying attention.

 

This is Jean's cue to say good morning back, and tease him about his addiction to Earl Grey. The words stick in her throat as last night comes rushing back; what if Magneto had stayed the night? What if - and even if he didn't - he's said something to her, she needs to respond -

 

"Morning, Prof," she says, but the words are stilted.

 

His eyes flick up to hers, his mind brushes by, finds her turmoil, and then - abruptly, too abruptly - withdraws. They hold each others' gazes for an awkward moment, and she feels a sudden wave of his resignation before he speaks, words crisp as usual.

 

"Jean, if you don't mind, you'll be working with Mystique today on finesse of telekinesis in hand-to-hand combat."

 

Moment forgotten, Jean leans forward. "What? No, you said we'd be training with Cerebro - "

 

"I'll understand if you feel more comfortable with Mystique today," he says, not looking at her. "I can brief Hank on the lesson we had planned with Cerebro, and you can do it another - "

 

"I want to train in Cerebro today," she says. _It's okay_ , she wants to say. _I don't care_.

 

"Don't worry, d - " he cuts off the pet name. "Hank will train you. He'll need a few days to prepare - "

 

Hank looks between them, and his expression is suddenly angry, disappointed. Betrayed. _I thought you were better than that_ , his thoughts say, but out loud, he is silent.

 

"If you don't mind," says the Prof, his words quiet and rasping, "I'll be in my study." He turns and wheels the chair out, and Jean half-rises from her seat - and then he's out of the room.

 

"I don't care," she says, out loud, too late. "I don't - " She turns to Hank, beseeching. "If it's who he is - "

 

"Don't tell _me_ ," says Hank, but his eyes are cautiously approving.

 

For a pair of telepaths, Jean thinks viciously as she speed-walks the mansion's west corridor, they are terrible at communication.

 

"Professor," she says, letting herself in the study. His head pops up from where he was clearly resting it in his hands on the desk; his eyes are slightly red-rimmed, and there is a glass of Scotch on the table beside him.

 

Jean takes this in at a glance, and lets words tumble out of her mouth, haphazard. "It doesn't matter to me, Prof. It's not - I don't care, I've seen so many people - you have to believe me, there's nothing wrong with you - "

 

"I know that, Jean," says the Professor, sharp, and she flushes, realizing how condescending she is being. "But it does take some getting used to."

 

"No, it's not that. It's just - " she breaks off and comes to stand next to him, and wills herself to casual affection, putting her hands around his shoulders and hugging him. It's strange, outside of the darkness of her bedroom and nightmare-cold sheets. "You are better to me than any parent I've ever had," she says, trying to find the words. It's easier not looking at him. "I - you really mean a lot to me, Professor. You - "

 

His arms come around her, gentle; they are both shaking, a little. "I know, Jean. It's all right." She feels his mind slide next to hers, comforting and solid, as it has always been. There is surprise there, and a bit of relief, but mostly, it's love. She echoes the sentiment back; it would feel weird, to say the words out loud, but she can tell from the way his mind is glowing - this is enough.

 

She relaxes in his hold, letting her mind go quiet, releasing the tension of the past few nights. He, too, seems to relax; she opens her mind to his, farther, giving him her thoughts about Magneto as a potential partner just to feel him laugh. Then -

 

"You didn't tell me you'd kissed Scott," says the Professor, out of _absolutely fucking nowhere_.

 

Jean jerks back, hair flying. "What? No, we didn't - I mean, well," she corrects herself, because lying to the Professor is an exercise in futility.

 

He raises an eyebrow. "He's wishing you would come back and speak with him," he reports.

 

"No."

 

"He's moping, Jean."

 

"Why should I care?"

 

"Sometimes," says the Prof, his eyes mischievous, "you need to humor the dramatic ones."

 

"You would know," says Jean, without thinking, and freezes. Was it okay -

 

The Professor just laughs, sending her a wave of reassurance. "I would, indeed."

 

"Fine, then," she says, turning around to head to Scott's room. "Have it your way."

 

"He likes your hair down," says the Professor, mildly.

 

Jean touches her French braids. "I know," she says, and doesn't move to undo them.

 

His smile is approving. "Good luck," he offers. His eyes are a little soft.

 

Jean smiles back at him. "Thanks. And, Professor?"

 

"Yes?"

 

"You too."

 

The Professor's eyes twinkle quietly. "Thank you. Now go. Talk to him, and tell me what he says."

 

Jean rolls her eyes, and lets herself out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr - send me prompts!
> 
> bollywood-and-phoenix-feather.tumblr.com


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